


And We Spin 'Round Again

by arachnidstardis



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Activist Steve Rogers, Alternate Canon, Anxiety, Artist Steve Rogers, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnidstardis/pseuds/arachnidstardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is deserumed, but back to an asthmatic twenty-something-year-old, in the middle of a battle.  New York City is new and old at the same time, and Steve readjusts to a relatively normal life.  </p><p>Basically an excuse for me to write Steve slowly becoming an activist in New York, singing to Taylor Swift songs and hanging out with people he ordinarily wouldn't while it still sort of being in a canon universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to the Start

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a bit of a slow ride but it'll pick up relatively soon.

Steve slammed on the ground, shoulders first, and rolled with it, slamming his gloved fist into the concrete and jumping back up.  The AIM goons were across the square, firing on Tony, while Clint picked a few of them off from the building above Steve. 

“Check-in.  I have visuals on Iron Man and Hawkeye.” Steve barked into the intercom as he scanned the street. 

“The Hulk and I have six on the run,” Natasha shot back first.  “They have the box of tech from Stark Tower.”

“Aye, I can see all of you.  I have taken care of those who ran initially, and will be there in moments.”  Thor said, wind whooshing in the background. 

Steve ran towards Tony, picking up his shield from where it had dropped as he was thrown across the street. 

“Iron Man, what’s the word on that tech they stole?”

Tony fired a couple of beams from his hands, kicking one of the yellow-suited agents wrapped around his leg to the ground.  “Nothing serious, just some advanced processors I was developing.  Widow should be able to lift the box on her own, once the Hulk is done smashing whoever has it.”

“Okay, then let’s-“

The world whited out and Steve hit the ground for the second time in as many minutes.  He could see his hand out of the corner of his vision before everything started to blur.  It looked oddly out of place, his glove seemingly growing and falling off.  The shield skittered away again, and Tony hit the ground a few paces away, running towards him. 

“Steve, what – Steve!”

He let out a rattling breath and let his eyes close as his back and lungs burned and the world faded to black. 

 

* * *

 

Steve woke up in harsh white light, an unsteady beeping coming from his left. 

“Unnh… Tony, sounds like AIM has a bomb…” He tried to sit up, and immediately lay back down as a hand pushed him down. 

“Easy there, soldier.”

Steve turned his head to see Natasha, leaning over him in civilian clothes.  He could also see now he was in a hospital bed, and the beeping was coming from a heart monitor. 

“Nat? What’s going on?” Steve tried to sit up again, but she held him down easily. 

He looked down at his feet, only to see the rest of the room was far blurrier than he’d expected. 

“Somehow, AIM deserumed you.  We don’t know how, and we certainly don’t know why you still look like you’re twenty-seven instead of, say, over ninety years old, but they did it, and it hasn’t worn off in the twenty hours you’ve been out.”

Steve looked Natasha in the eyes, as best he could when she was straightening up, still a couple feet away, her features were fuzzy around the edges.  The red of her hair was faded, and he couldn’t see any flush to her skin.  He sighed internally.  Colors had just started making sense to him, and now they were back to being dull around the edges and smeared by his near-sightedness to boot.  Things had been so vibrant.  Then he remembered the last mission. 

“Did we recover Tony’s tech?”

Nat frowned.  “Yes, but it was badly damaged.  The big guy didn’t exactly let them go easy.”

“No lullaby?”

She frowned even more.  “I can’t compromise Bruce in the middle of a mission like that.  Besides, he just got back from wherever he went after the last fiasco.  I don’t want to scare him.”  She looked off into space, her expression carefully neutral. 

Steve decided to ask her exactly what the status of their relationship was later, as she was getting frosty again, and there was still the matter of exactly what the fuck he was going to do now that he was a hundred-pound asthmatic mess again. 

Nat looked down at him like she could see the cogs turning in his head.  “Tony has a safe house for you already set up, until we figure out how to undo this.  You’re in an apartment downtown.”

“Wow.  Okay.” Steve looked back up at the ceiling.  He took a deep breath, and felt his lungs rattle like they hadn’t in years. 

“Tony’s already fiddling with the device that turned you back in the first place, but it doesn’t exactly have a big “Undo” button.  You’ll definitely be stuck like this for a while. On the plus side, other than everything that was wrong with you back in 1945, you don’t have any sustained injuries.” Natasha touched Steve’s arm gently, the Romanoff equivalent of pulling him in for a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek.  “You’re off missions though, obviously.” 

The _‘you’re useless now, too,”_ rang unspoken in Steve’s head, and he sighed.  “Okay.  Thanks, Nat.”

“Any time, Cap.”  She turned to walk out of the room. 

Steve closed his eyes, drained.  He drifted off back to sleep, listening to the sound of his irregular heartbeat thump unsteadily in the background. 

 

* * *

 

The new apartment was surprisingly low-key for something Tony had arranged, which meant that Pepper had picked it out.  There were only a few rooms, and it didn’t take up an entire floor.  Steve had his own bedroom, a spacious bathroom with a large shower, a guest bedroom, and a kitchen that opened up onto a living area with one of the squishiest-looking couches he had ever seen.  There was also a wooden easel in the corner, near the large windows.  Mid-afternoon sun streamed through the curtains onto a hardwood floor. 

Steve set down his bag in the bedroom, and turned to the closet.  It was mirrored, and he tried not to look at himself too hard as he slid it open.  Pepper had been here, too, and the hangers had a mix of pressed button-downs, casual t-shirts, and some nicer khakis and jeans that looked deceptively simple, but were probably insanely expensive.  He closed the closet door. 

Tony had set him up with an array of doctors before he left the Tower’s medical floor.  He had big-framed glasses that Sam assured him looked great, daily and rescue inhalers, and a light, collapsible cane in his bag should he be in too much pain to move unassisted.  It was more than he had ever hoped for, and it was a pittance in comparison to what he had had.  He felt terrible. 

He adjusted the glasses on his face and tugged at the shirt he was wearing.  Tony had said, albeit jokingly, that he looked like a hipster with them on.  They reminded him of the glasses he had snagged for his disguise in the Apple Store during the Project Insight incident.  There was a metal, medical alert bracelet around his wrist, reminding him of all the different maladies he was back to having. 

There was a knock on the door, and Steve jumped.  He turned on his heel and all but ran into the living area and through the front hall that lead to the door. 

“Sam!” He said, swinging open the door, and blinked as he looked up at him.  Sam clearly wasn’t prepared to look down at Steve, either, and he bit his lip before smiling. 

“I thought I’d bring over some food while I’m in the neighborhood,” he said as Steve stepped to the side to let him in. 

Steve smiled a bit.  “Sam, you didn’t have to do that,” he started, but Sam cut him off. 

“I do when I don’t have to pay for it!” He winked.  “Tony gave me a credit card, for ‘Avengers business only,’” he added, making air quotes with one hand as he took some fruit juice, bagels, and cans of soup out of the paper bag he was holding.  “Oh, and I saw this on my way over, figured you’d want to check it out.” He held out a piece of paper to Steve, who leaned on the counter next to Sam. 

The paper was a help wanted ad for the local community center, who needed an art teacher.  Steve looked up at Sam.  “Something to do in my spare time in my old age?” He joked, hoping to get Sam to crack a smile. 

He threw back his head and laughed.  “Oh yeah, you old fart.  But really, I figured it’d be nice to give back to New York, teach some old ladies how to sculpt or something.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve smiled, trying to make it genuine. 

Sam put a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  “Any time, man.  I have to get back to the VA, but I’ll try to come up in a couple weeks.  Clint lives in Brooklyn, though; He can come by any time if you need it.”

“I’ll remember that,” Steve said. 

Sam took his hand off Steve and cracked his knuckles.  “I’m afraid that’s it for my stay, though; my train leaves in a bit.  Have a good afternoon, and make sure to check that thing out!”

Steve waved a little as Sam headed for the door.  “Yeah, I will.  Bye, Sam.”

“Bye, Steve.”

The door closed, and Steve looked down at the paper again. 


	2. Powerless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well here come the feels. You guys wanted to see where Bucky was, and here he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I ordinarily have like three or four days where I write my ass off and then disappear for a couple of months. These are those days. I'm gonna try to update this and my other fic as much as possible before I run out of steam again.

The asset crouched on top of the building opposite the target’s.  The target was wrong.  The target was six-foot-three, in possession of the Super Soldier Serum, and nearly defeated the asset in a fight. 

The target was no longer the one the asset had fought on the helicarrier. 

The asset observed. 

 

* * *

 

Steve walked into the community center, letting the door click shut behind him.  Whoever was in charge of decorating it had made a valiant attempt to brighten up the cinderblock walls and industrial lighting with large paper cutouts of the sun and a farmscape.  Behind the front desk were big letters that spelled out “WELCOME.”

The woman behind the front desk looked up as Steve walked in. 

“Hi, can I help you?”

Steve swallowed.  “Um.  Hi, I was interested in applying for that art teacher position? I’m Steven Grant.” 

Natasha had swung by Steve’s apartment last night when he texted her and told her about Sam’s idea.  It was unlikely anyone would actually recognize Steve, but just to err on the safe side, they had spent a couple of hours drawing up a fake resume for Steve, including some fake documents should he need to submit to a background check.  Natasha had, of course, already had all the documents with the fake name she had picked out, and because Steve was “utterly incompetent at lying for very long,” according to her, it was just his first and middle name.

The woman brightened up immediately, warm brown eyes sparkling.  “Oh! We haven’t had any applicants yet.  Here, let me get the papers.”  She spun around in her chair digging through a collapsible file folder.  Steve looked her over as she searched.  He couldn’t really tell the underlying tone to her skin anymore, but if he had to guess, it was more of a deep, purple-brown than red-brown.  Her hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, and she had opted to leave it natural, which Steve thought looked nice on her. 

“Here it is!” She beamed up at Steve.  “We’ve been having to cancel the art classes lately because no one can fill the position.  Honestly, if you fill this out, you at least have a part-time job right away.  We need at least two more people to teach all the classes, but having any open up again would be a huge help.”

“What kind of courses do you need me to teach?” Steve asked, pulling out ‘his’ resume and copying the information over. 

The woman, whose nametag said “Dominique,” leaned back in her chair and put a hand on her chin, thinking.  “Well, there’s usually an evening class on beginning acrylic painting and one on sculpture.  Morning classes are for kids, and are basically for letting them go nuts with the washable paint and hoping they don’t eat any of it.  We also have some afternoon classes for older kids when they get out of school on the fundamentals of drawing.  Then there’s the after-school daycare art classes for the elementary schoolers, which are somewhere in between the free-for-all class and the teen class in terms of structure.  Aaaand there’s an art appreciation class for seniors.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.  “Wow, that’s a lot for one rec center.”

“Yeah, we’ve had to drop all but the class for the really little kids since the art teachers…. Well.”  Dominique looked off at the paper cutouts on the wall.  “You heard about the protests against police brutality, yeah?  They got arrested and ‘mysteriously died’ in jail.  This place hasn’t been the same since.”

There was silence for a minute.  Steve stopped writing.  “That’s awful,” he said quietly. 

Dominique shrugged and moved some papers around on her desk.  “They would’ve wanted us to keep going, though, and the police have been a little quieter lately.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Steve said, unable to think of anything else to say. 

She looked up at Steve.  “But hey, you might be able to help out around here, and that’s some good news!”

Steve smiled.  “I sure hope so, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

On the walk back, Steve lost himself in thought.  He didn’t think Sam had known about _why_ there was an opening at the community center, but this was something Steve hadn’t really thought about a lot yet.  He had known about the protests, seen them in the news, heard all the fuss about how cops had been putting down unrest around the country, but it occurred to Steve that the news he had been watching had been more filtered than he had originally thought.  He resolved to search for some information when he got home. 

Back at the apartment, Steve turned on the laptop Pepper had left for him on the table in the living area.  He wasn’t completely tech-illiterate, no matter what Tony said, and he had the basics of how to use the computer and surf the internet down pat.  He had just typed in “When were there protests in New York City?” into the search bar when there was movement to his right. He jumped and turned to look at it, and then nearly fell off the couch. 

Bucky was standing in front of the easel.  His hair was hanging, unkempt, in his face, he had on an incredibly dirty baseball cap, jacket, and jeans, and he stared unblinkingly at Steve.  He was unshaven, like it had been weeks since he’d showered, and his blue eyes were big and sad underneath the brim of his hat.  Steve felt his heart sink a little. 

“Buck?” Steve gently set the laptop down on the couch next to him and slowly raised his arms to chest level.  “Bucky, it’s me, Steve.”  He tried not to let his voice crack. 

Steve slowly stood up, and Bucky followed him with his eyes.  Steve took a tentative step towards Bucky, and stopped.  Neither of them moved.  Steve took another step.  Bucky blinked, finally, but didn’t budge. 

“Can I come closer?”

Bucky let out a breath, and Steve almost flinched.  He looked down at Steve’s feet, then back up at his eyes. 

“Why are you… small?”  Bucky’s voice was scratchy, but otherwise it was exactly as Steve had remembered it. 

Steve bit his lip.  “I don’t know, AIM used something to change me back to how I was before the serum.  Bucky – “

The door exploded inwards and a group of black-clad agents streamed into the room.  One of them tackled Steve to the ground, and the rest charged towards Bucky, who was out the open window before any of them could reach him. 

“The Winter Soldier is escaping down the side of the building, pursue and capture!” One of the agents yelled into his earpiece, and five of the agents rushed out of the room again, leaving only a few to generally lurk in the corners of Steve’s living room.

“What was THAT?!” Steve screamed as one of the agents pulled him up to a standing position.  “How was that even remotely helpful, he was TALKING to me!” He took a deep breath, trying not to  give himself an asthma attack, because that was a thing he had to worry about again, because of this STUPID body that Bucky had recognized and now everything was going to shit again because of fucking Tony Stark and his fucking surveillance. 

“We were under orders to observe you and neutralize any threat to you while you weren’t back to being yourself, Captain,” the agent who had shouted orders before said.  He sounded a little uncertain, though. 

“Well, I _am_ myself right now, and I almost had my best fucking friend back.”  Steve crossed his arms, aware that he was being more than a little petulant, especially since Bucky probably could have snapped him in two if he so chose. 

The agents shuffled around a little as Steve tried not to stomp into his bedroom.  He did, however, slam the door, because he could, and it felt nice to be able to actually move something around. 

Steve threw his shirt and shorts into the corner of his room and crawled under the covers, hearing the agents all clomp back out of his room.  He didn’t even care that they had destroyed the door; it undoubtedly would be replaced by the time he woke up.  All he wanted to do now was sleep and try to forget the second of sheer, unadulterated terror he saw in Bucky’s eyes before he had disappeared.  It was the same look that had been in his eyes right before Steve fell off the helicarrier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a pick-me-up from the sads, I updated You Are Petty As Hell last night, and that's funny and has porn in it and no one is the sads just yet.


End file.
